Were you with these, my prince, you 'd soon forget
The pale, unripened beauties of the north.
Cato. Act i. Sc. 4.
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.
The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex.
Cato. Act i. Sc. 4.
My voice is still for war.
Gods! can a Roman senate long debate
Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?